Don't Mess With Me
by Kuroba's Pet Fish
Summary: My name is Rosa Tejas. I'm half Hispanic half Anglo. Until three days ago, I was Tejas de Mexico. I look like a teenage girl, but I'm not even human. I am the land itself. I AM the Republic of Texas. This... is my story. rated T for violence- OCxOC


Title: Don't Mess With Me

Characters: Texas (OC), with various other characters later

Disclaimor: I do not own Axis Powers: Hetailia. However, Texas, the states, and the Canadian Provinces in this multi-chapter fanfic belong to me. (Note: I do not claim actual historical characters as my own)

Chapter Title: The Alamo

Summary: My name is Rosa Tejas. I am half Mexican, half American. Until three days ago, my name was Tejas de Mexico. I look like a teenage girl, but I am not human. I am the land itself. I am the Republic of Texas. This... is my story.

March 5, 1836

I sat there, listening to haunting music. The Centralists played their song, trying to destroy our hope. Fires crackled, but nobody spoke. Col Travis was speaking with some of his men, Mr. Crockett being one of them. Davy had pulled out his fiddle a while ago, playing it in hopes to raise our spirits. It wasn't working. The men were probably planning for the next day, but all of us knew that it was hopeless. Santa Anna had so much more men than us.

Col Travis then stood up. He gathered us around. "An attack's coming," he announced, looking us all in the eye. "Mexico is going to prevail. I've already sent James Allen with our lasts letters, but I have one request." He drew a line in the sand. "All those willing to die for the Texian cause, join me on this side. Otherwise, you may go."

_Die?_ I thought_ Can I even die? Nobody knows what I really am. Staying here might blow my cover. But these men are willing to _die_ for..._

"Is that all?" Travis asked, snapping me out of my thoughts. "What about you, Boy?"

I looked up from the ground. Almost everyone had crossed the line, leaving me and one other man. I gulped. Then, I stepped over, replying, "I'm Texian through and through, sir. It'll be my honor to fight with you."

And that had been it. Nobody discussed the man that left. Nobody said a word about our fate. I was stacking cannon balls with Joe, a colored man. Joe had always been kind to me, the runt. I was small for a kid of 14, but the slave knew my potential. We looked nearly polar opposite. He was a tall and broad older man with coal skin, and I was just a young lad with blonde hair and green eyes. He and I often chatted as we worked, and tonight was no different.

"The master's a brave man, isn't he, Boy?" Joe said.

"I suppose. He's only in charge because Col Bowie fell ill eleven days ago. "

"But," he added. "He took you in when you asked to enlist a year ago. You were tiny then."

"I still am," I replied. We both laughed.

"Why is it that Master calls you Boy?" Joe asked. He stopped working a moment to look at me. "I'm his slave, yet he still calls me by my name."

I shrugged. "Ain't got no name. At least, not one he can call me."

Joe took this as a reasonable answer, and we continued working. Sweat poured down my brow as the night grew darker. Hours passed as I ran around, doing various errands for the men. Suddenly, I heard a voice call out, "Boy! Come over here!" It was Col Travis.

I jogged up and breathlessly asked, "Yes sir?"

He and Davy looked me up and down. William Travis was silent for a while. His lips became a thin line before he finally said, "Go check on Bowie. That's all."

"Come now, Travis!" Crockett interrupted before I could leave. "You might as well be honest with the kid."

"Excuse me?"

Travis sighed, brushing back his blonde hair. He didn't look me in the eye. "Look... Boy," he said hesitantly. "when I picked you up two years ago, I knew something wasn't right. I treated you like one of my sons, but something was off." He reached into his pocket, pulling out a letter. "This is from my ex-wife. She told me everything."

I read the letter silently and looked up at him. "And your point is?"

"We can't have women fighting as soldiers."

I glared at him. "What does it matter?" I shouted. "You asked me if I would fight, and I said yes! Now, just because of my gender, you're taking that away from me? What do you want me to do?"

There was a long silence. Then, Travis replied, "Go with the other women, Girl. Hide. Miss Dickenson should have an extra dress."

"I have a name, you know," I spat. "It's Rosa." With that, I yanked my hair out of its ponytail, threw the string holding it on the ground, and stormed off. That was the last time I saw William B. Travis alive.

**My name is Rosa Tejas. I am half Mexican, half American. Until three days ago, my name was Tejas de Mexico. I look like a teenage girl, but I am not human. I am the land itself. I am the Republic of Texas. This... is my story.**

Cannon fire. People shouting. The moans of death. These are the things I heard in the darkness of the chapel. Most of the women were huddled in a corner, holding their babies close. I sat further away, in front of them. A brown dress hung on my frame, and I held a musket aimed at the door. My stomach felt a surge of pain after each Texian death. Damn Santa Anna. Damn Mexico himself. We sat like that for hours, the scent of death seeping into our lungs. Daylight began to shine through our boarded up windows.

_Thud._ I straightened up. _Thud. Thud._ Someone was banging on the door. My finger tightened slightly on the trigger. _ Steady, now,_ I thought. _Just wait until they open the door..._

The chapel door caved in. Centralists flooded the room. I aimlessly drew fire. The musket ball harmlessly embedded itself into a wall. One of the soldiers laughed. "_Tonta chica,_" he teased, yanking the gun from my hands. "You cannot fight. El Presidente will be glad to see such a pretty girl, though." More laughter.

They dragged us out into the courtyard. The women gasped at the site of carnage. I kept my jaw firm. In the distance, I saw eight or nine Texians lined up, bound, but not afraid. Davy was among them. He survived. But, as quickly as relief swept over me, it was gone, replaced with horror. All at once, a line of Mexican soldiers charged, bayonets pointed, ending the eight lives before our eyes.

We were grouped together with Joe and another slave. Were our fates next? I knew that I couldn't technically die, but the fear of the people around me was overwhelming.

Two men approached our party, both in sharp uniforms. One was skinny with short black hair and the stride of a king; Santa Anna. The man next to him was broader, with a thick mustache and a small scar on his chin. I glared at the second man, the one I used to think of as a father. But that was back when I was a kid.

Santa Anna spoke. "There is no stopping the Mexican Army," he stated. "As you can see, resisting is a futile effort at best. You silly Anglos cannot win." He paced back and forth, before stopping in front of a Tejano woman and her infant son. "Your name, Senoira."

"Juana Navarro Alsbury."

"Come with me."

The two left with Mexico not far behind. A few minutes later, they returned, Senoira Alsbury carrying a blanket and two silver pesos, saying "Gracias" over and over again.

One by one, he interviewed all of us. Each woman returned with a blanket and money. What was Santa Anna up to? It took hours, but they finally reached me.

"Your name?" Santa Anna asked.

I spat in his face. "Don't ask me how to spell that," I added as he wiped the saliva off his face.

Santa Anna brought back his hand and struck me across the face. He turned to Mexico. "Make her come."

I followed the two men to a different part of the fort. It looked like a bell tower. As we approached, we passed by an open room. I glanced inside and gasped. There lay Jim Bowie, stab wounds decorating his once living torso. "You monsters," I growled.

The dictator chuckle. "Why, chica," he replied. "We were putting the poor man out of his misery. Now sit."

I sat. Honestly, it felt good to sit in an actual chair. But I was still glaring at the country and his ruler.

Santa Anna brought his face up to mine. "One last time," he spat. "Tell me your name."

I ignored him. Instead, I looked straight at Mexico and asked, "Does he know?"

Both men were taken back by the comment.

"He _is_ your 'el presidente'," I added. "Does he know about you?"

Mexico nodded. "Si."

I took a deep breath, then turned my attention to the dictator. "My name is Rosa," I said. "I have no last name."

"That is a nombre en Espanola. But you are Americano." Confusion and frustration settled over Santa Anna's face.

"Actually," I explained. "My father was a Mexican citizen. But I'm neither a Mexican nor an American. I'm a Texian to the death." I stood up, knocking the chair down. "So you can crawl in a ditch and die for all I care, you no good, yellow belly, son of a..."

"Silence! To think I spared your ungrateful life. This is how you thank me? I ought to have my men slay you where you stand," he threatened.

"Shoot me."

Mexico whispered something into his boss's ear. Santa Anna nodded, and the two left for a little bit. I stood there, waiting. The two soldiers were quietly speaking back and forth. Occasionally, Mexico would look at me, then continue where he left off. Santa Anna shouted an order at a random soldier, who grabbed my arm and dragged me back to the group.

"You three," the dictator spat, indicating Miss Dickenson, Joe, and me. "Go. Spread the word of your defeat to your people. Tell them that the great Santa Anna is invincible."

With that, we were shoved out of the Alamo. The four of us, a slave, a mother, a child, and a supernatural being, were left to fend for ourselves. After a second thought, I turned around and shouted, "_Espero que estes feliz!_" Then I started walking. "Come on, guys," I said, dusting my dress off. "Let's go find General Houston."


End file.
